


A red Sun rises

by Blaubeere



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood Kink, Crossover, Elf!Will, Epic Battles, Epic Love, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Hannibal, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaubeere/pseuds/Blaubeere
Summary: As the Fifth Age neared its end, darkness was creeping back to Middle-Earth and the last of the Balrogs, known as the Fire Beast, was terrorising the lands of the free folk. Among the Men, a new cult was gaining more followers and the world was yet again at war.Hannibal was the leader of what was left of his people, descendant of old kings and queens. He had finally found a weapon that could kill the Fire Beast and give him his long awaited revenge, but now he only lacks an Elf to wield it. But it's common knowledge that all the Elves have deserted Middle-Earth...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Such a long time since I posted anything, but I couldn't resist HannibalOdyssey and the chance to combine my love for Hannibal and Middle-Earth. But you don't really need any previous knowledge of Lord of the Rings or Silmarillion to read this, as this takes place after both of those and is fairly unrelated.  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome and all kinds of comments!
> 
> The title is part of a quote from Legolas: _“A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night.”_
> 
>  
> 
> A really big thank you to **willybastilly** who beta read this in such a short notice and helped greatly otherwise too!  
>  And a thank you **PheadraVenus** as well for being so supportive (as always), little caramel girl ;3

_Screams and cruel laughter filled the clear morning air. A man ran with a little child riding his back, both of them refused to look back at the house that was on fire. A black smoke raised high above them like a physical embodiment of the horror they had endured._

 

_But he didn't see it, he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, desperate to get their child safe, desperate to honor his beloved's sacrifice. He was a scholar, he couldn't have done anything to stop Shadow Followers and yet the knowledge of his own weakness burned in his chest. He wanted to die next to his beloved if they couldn't live together._

 

_But still he ran._

 

_When he heard one last cry, full of anguish, when he recognized his wife's voice, he gritted his teeth and ran faster._

 

_The little boy on his shoulders couldn't help but look back. Tears ran free on his cheeks and his hair had come loose from his usual braids revealing the pointy tips of his ears._

 

_They ran until his father couldn't stand any longer._

 

***

 

When the Fifth Age had neared its end, much of the good that had been built and treasured in the Fourth Age was destroyed or forgotten. Many said that the world itself was about to end, but nobody was left to tell whether it was true or not. The Dwarves knew not the fate of the world apart from their own part in it. The Hobbits didn't much care for faraway things and they had been at peace for as long as they remembered, since the time of old heroes, the likes of Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Tuck and their children. The Men quarrelled with each other on these matters and couldn't decide what to believe, as is their custom. And the Elves… The Elves had long since deserted Middle-earth and left for the West, the Wizards going with them.

 

Now the world had belonged to Men for hundreds of years as had been intended before the world even was born. Many great deeds had been done, many heroes had walked among them and led them to better days. But nothing lasts forever, not peace and not harmony between the different kingdoms of  
Men. At some point dark whispers had started to poison the minds of their leaders once again. 

 

Hannibal didn't much care whether this world would end tomorrow or not in the next seven Ages. His concern was for his people and their safety. And for revenge. He was a descendant of old kings, their blood still ran in his veins. The trust of his people sat heavily on his shoulders, and he had been fighting for them since he was barely out of childhood, almost too young to understand what it meant at first.

 

He was a mighty warrior, the likes of which usually only heard from the tales of old times. Fortune seemed to be on his side, he never wounded nor lost a fight. His sword hand was steady and his knives even quicker, striking when the enemy wasn't expecting. His people, his comrades, loved him for his bravery, for his just rule and wisdom.

 

That day he stood before his people and held their last hope high so that all could see the sword he was holding. It gleamed deadly in the torchlight, like it was covered in swirling fire. It was nothing like the heavy weapon on his side, unlike any sword hands of Men had crafted. It was slim and almost delicate looking and yet it hold more power than they dared to hope.

 

“You have been patient, you have suffered beyond imagination and lost more than anyone could bare to lose. I have asked you to trust me many times, and you have proven yourself loyal. Finally I can pay back your sacrifice!” Hannibal held the sword even higher and his voice rang deep and true. Nobody could look away from the sword that had cost the lives of a quarter of his warriors. Nobody thought the price had been too high.

 

“Behold, Laurë of Glorfindel! This sword has already done great deeds in the hands of its previous owner, and now we need it to lend its strength to us. Four days from now, my warriors and I will leave you and go to challenge the Fire Beast!”

 

People screamed, their eyes on fire, and at that moment Hannibal felt like he was filled with their strength and will to fight. His closest warriors had drawn their own weapons and soon the air was filled with gleaming steel. The cry of the last Men of the North would be remembered in the hearts of their fighters.

 

Hannibal knew he only had one last thing to obtain before he could finally avenge his sister and his parents.

 

***

 

“Are you certain this is the best course of action?” his second in command, Bedel, asked. Her steely eyes watched Hannibal searching for any visible weakness. She was an older woman with great strength and clear mind, her thoughts rarely strayed from their goal and she had proven her worth in many a battle – both in leadership and with her axe. He knew his people would be in good hands should he not come back.

 

“I am. This is the moment we have waited, before we only could do so much but now... Now we truly have hope. I will do everything in my power to ensure our tormentors are destroyed and I will not let anything stand in my way.”

 

He stood before her, his face calm and looking almost like a king of old legends. His armour was light, chainmail under a leather coat and a cloak stained with both mud and blood. The sword of Glorfindel was clasped on his back, and despite his unkempt hair and beard, nobody could doubt that he was their leader. His warriors would follow him to death and gladly do so.

 

“The only thing that's left is finding us an Elf to wield Laurë, and we can begin our long awaited attack.”

 

“Why won't Abial do it?” Bedel asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Hannibal drank from his goblet and shook his head. He could hear his people’s singing from the bonfires, where they danced and ate and sang to celebrate their victory and coming attack. They rarely had any cause for merriment, their lives full of sorrow and pain, so it warmed him to know that they could at least have this moment to cherish.

 

Glancing to the dancers, he could make out a young lithe girl whose dark hair flowed in the air as she danced, her features bearing a beauty that was nothing like a child of Man’s innocence. She was almost as old as he, and yet she laughed and smiled with no care for tomorrow.

 

“She is just a child, she is still healing and has no experience with swords or weapons of any kind.”

 

“We could train her. We have waited for years, what's a couple more?” Bedel asked.

 

Hannibal answered, looking at her intently: “And still, she is only a half-Elf. When she touched Laurë she felt nothing. It would be as useless as me striking that foul Fire Beast with it.”

 

“But where are you going to find a full blooded Elf?”

 

“From the Dwarf kingdom of the Cruel Mountains. I know you have heard of the hunter who lives near that place. How quick he is and how it is said that he has the fate itself on his side. I doubt the rumors refer to a Dwarf or a Man. Or a Hobbit.” added Hannibal, getting the pleasure of seeing Bedel roll her eyes.

 

“If this tale is true, how exactly are you going to make him help us?” Bedel’s voice was cold but underneath, her curiosity had awoken. “The Elves abandoned these lands long ago, they abandoned us, if you believe the old legends. Or more likely, the enemy got them first. I've heard that Dwarves and Elves weren't in good terms either, before the time of King Elessar and his companions.”

 

“Indeed, Abial is the first being with real Elf-blood I've ever seen, but I think that is also the answer to your question,” Hannibal said, smiling a little. He looked steadily into Bedel’s stone-grey eyes. “If you believed yourself to be the last of your kind in Middle-earth, then what would you do if you found a little child of your people suddenly before you?”

 

Bedel didn't say anything, and neither did she need to. Hannibal saw the understanding dawn on her.

 

Hannibal spoke again: “If I remember correctly, elves especially were very protective of their young, since the birth of an Elfling was a rare and celebrated occasion. I doubt this Hunter could stay cold to our plea if they understood what the Fire Beast and the Shadow Followers have done to one of their kind. To a mere child, no less.”

 

Bedel looked away from her commander and sighed heavily. In that moment, she was like a weary queen, who knew the decision she was about to make was necessary but would bring sorrow to many.

 

“I can't deny that your plan is our best option, but she is just a child, Hannibal. She is one of us.”

 

Hannibal cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrow. “She is indeed. And that means that she knows what must be done.”

 

***

 

And so they rode from their camp four days after the celebration of Laurë. Hannibal selected his best warriors for the task, the ones that had been with him for years, in that time seeing  much and doing great deeds for which their people sang during the evening fire. The rest of the warriors stayed to guard their children and their elders who had earned their protection by surviving their own difficulties. When Hannibal led them away, everyone who could be present by any means, sent them off with faces full of hesitant hope. Nobody cried, not even the children, who had all learned from a young age that it was useless. 

 

Hannibal didn't look back, his thoughts were on their goal. He knew that he was leading his companions into almost certain death, and the knowledge sat heavily inside him. However, when the time would come to say their goodbyes, he wouldn't regret his decision. His people, his companions, meant much to him, but they didn't even compare to the burning flame of hatred that was always close to his heart. 

 

He remembered the tiny hands that had tried to reach for him, the empty eyes, the little shining golden head, ruined by blood. He saw the broken body of his little sister, half eaten before he got there to help. Too late. Far too late. 

 

No, he wouldn't regret anything, wouldn't care much about what would happen after he achieved his goal. He looked ahead, over the fresh spring grass, over the road they travelled on, and into the clear sky which the rising sun coloured red as newly spilled blood. 

 

A hawk's cry pierced the air full of wild anticipation.


End file.
